


A Date?

by BadDecisionsAndGoodWriting



Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Alcohol, Awkwardness, Denial, Fights, Greasers, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 10:10:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13233528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadDecisionsAndGoodWriting/pseuds/BadDecisionsAndGoodWriting
Summary: For some reason beyond the imaginations of his fellow animatronics, Foxy took Mike on a date. And for some reason beyond logic, he insists that he didn’t.





	A Date?

**Author's Note:**

> For updates on stories, sneak peaks, and occasionally fanart please check me out at [TheHeraldOfTheDark](https://theheraldofthedark.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy the story.  
> 

Foxy hums gratefully with the wind as it blows delicately through his mysteriously-well-attached pompadour wig, just content to feel the elements for once. Foxy gently deposits Mike, who had been completely supported by Foxy the entire walk, against the steadily decaying walls of Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza. He pats down his pockets to find the key to the backdoor (the one he wasn’t supposed to have), his search not assisted by the lack of light in the alleyway. Having found the key exactly where he thought he had left it, Foxy ever so gently unlocks the door like he’s breaking into his parent’s liquor cabinet. Like the master of stealth that he is, Foxy swiftly pockets the key, grabs ahold of Mike, and silently makes his way inside.

It’s surprisingly dark in the office hallway that they came in from, but Foxy just counts himself lucky as that means that the others aren’t here right now. He figures that they’ll settle in the office for the rest of the night, patiently waiting for the sun to rise and the others to enter daytime mode so that Mike can escape unscathed. His metallic feet keep him from being completely quiet, but Foxy makes up for it by walking so softly that the sound blends in to the others in the building. He leaves Mike once again standing shakily against the wall as he turns around to lock the door. A tiny click follows a muffled thump as the last bits of evidence of their spectacular crime are hidden seamlessly away.

“Can I ask what you two think you’re doing?” says the only-slightly sterner than usual and kind of more disappointed than normal voice of a very tense Freddy Fazbear.

Foxy, with his ears completely back, refuses to meet his eyes, “Whatever I want?”

“You guys weren’t doing anything, right?” Bonnie mutters, voice shaking, “nothing happened, right?”

“I doubt that,” Chica says, somehow sounding more tired than usual, “they’ve been gone for too long to have done nothing.”

“I honestly don’t know what you guys are so upset about!” Goldie says from the office, “just let the kids have their fun.”

“Hey,” Mike says, voice warbling, “what’s the big deal? All we did was go on a date. It’s no thang.”

The entire room freezes, the only one not completely still the same one who blew the case wide open. Mike just stands there, his athletic frame wobbling from a dulled fear response. He looks around to the animatronics, smiling calmly away at their horrified faces. Foxy doesn’t dare to face the others now, if anything, he’s considering the potential consequences of making a break for it and living on his own.

That dream is swiftly ended as Freddy picks up both Foxy and Mike under his arms like sacks of disappointment. Grumpily, Freddy pushes his way through the small crowd of animatronics with a crazed fox in one hand and a surprisingly passive guard in the other. Everyone who isn’t Freddy or the offenders are forced to back out of the hallway in an awkward shuffle, as they’re too stunned to walk out normally. The odd procession makes their way to the dining area, where the two guilty parties are set on one side of a table while the others go to the tables farther away. Freddy tells Goldie something that makes him stand right behind the two while Freddy seats himself on the other side.

“What is this?” Mike mumbles, “some kind of trial?”

“I guess you could call it that,” Freddy says proudly.

“Cause I mean, those guys back there,” he gestures to Bonnie and Chica, “are like the spectators or something, and the bear guy is like the judge.” Mike turns back to meet Goldie’s eyes, “I don’t know what you would be, sorry.” Mike pauses, and scratches his 5 o’clock shave, “Wait, does that mean we’re the defendants?”

“I would say that honor goes to Foxy,” Freddy says in a way that tells he wouldn’t be talking so kindly to Mike if he could help it.

“Ye got the gold one to keep me from kicking yer ass, didn’t ye?” Foxy accuses in his Scottish accent, “don’t think I don’t know what yer trying to do, Fazbear.”

Freddy chuckles humorlessly, “We both know you’d never do that, Foxy.”

Foxy growls, “I’ll show ye what I can do, ye worthless—.” His spirited attempt to get up is swiftly stopped by Goldie, who quickly pushes him back down to his seat. He huffs, “and why’re the others just sitting back there?” He raises his voice, “are ye too scared to meet my eyes? Cowards!”

“Oh, Foxy,” Chica sighs, “don’t you think you’re making this harder than it needs to be?”

Bonnie takes a break from resting his face on the table, “Just tell him you weren’t doing anything, Foxy. Then this’ll all be over.”

Freddy brings up a hand as if to silence them, “let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” He turns his attention back towards the fuming fox, “so tell us Foxy, why did you escape in the middle of the day with this,” he gestures disgustedly at Mike, “man.”

Foxy takes a moment to observe the people around him: the uptight Freddy, the melancholy Chica, the uneasy Bonnie, and the stoic Goldie. He knows very well that, despite their relative calm right now, they’d be trying to kill Mike if it weren’t for their shock. He knows that if he allows them to get over it, there’s no way he would be able to fight them off. All at once, Foxy understands exactly what he needs to do.

“That’s easy,” Foxy says far more coolly than anyone had expected, “I was attacking him!” Foxy brandishes a rare and nearly unnatural smile at the suddenly silent group, his posture far more relaxed than a Foxy should ever be.

The bear, eyes wide and hands folded awkwardly, clears his throat, “Excuse me?”

“Ye heard me,” Foxy says with barely any distain, “I was attacking him.”

“See I told you!” Bonnie shouts, “he wasn’t consorting with the enemy, he’s still totally on our side!”

“Of course,” Foxy says, “I wouldn’t expect this lot to understand the workings of my strategies, so I don’t think I’ll be bothering.”

Freddy rubs his face in slow circles, trying to regain his sanity, “Well then, why is he still alive?”

Foxy laughs, “See? This is exactly what I meant. Yer all too comfortable with yer direct methods, ye can’t even comprehend this indirect one!”

“Indirect method,” Freddy repeats, “he’s still alive because of your indirect method.”

Foxy nods, “Ye’ve never taken the time to get to know the enemy, ye all just use the same tired methods as we always have. As some wise feller once said, to know thy enemy is to know thy self, and I was spending all that time getting to know Mikey here.” He pats Mike on the head, to which Mike giggles like a school girl, “Now I know all his weak points. But don’t go expecting me to share ‘em with ye, ‘to the victor go the spoils’ as some other wise feller said.”

Freddy buries his face into his hands, “But you said you attacked him, that’s not attacking.”

“Ye be right!” Foxy proclaims, “that was just one step of my dastardly plan!”

“Oh my God,” Freddy whimpers under his breath.

“Ye see, once I got to know him a little better, I began to exploit his weak points.”

“Like what?” Bonnie says fearfully.

“I learned that he particularly likes it when you—.”

Freddy shoots out his hand to muzzle Foxy, “Stop.”

Foxy smiles cruelly at Freddy, overjoyed to see the old bear so exasperated. He tries not to cringe as Freddy continues to put pressure on his damaged jaw, as that would be a sign of weakness. He’s not about to give up his victory over something as trivial as joint pain, even if that joint has been broken more times than he could count. In a wargame like this one, stifling one’s reactions is the key to winning. The bear eventually gives up on forcibly quieting the fox, and drops his grip.

“Listen Foxy,” Freddy says, “I’ll give you pretty much anything you want if you’ll just admit to what really happened. Hell, I’ll even let you run the office for a day if you’ll come clean.”

Foxy grins, happier than he ever had been to have finally broken the indomitable Freddy, “I already have, Freddy my boy, I already have.”

Freddy buries his face in his hands, “Oh my God.”

“Well,” Chica pips up, “how come he came here drunk?” For once, Chica is sitting upright, her posture portraying someone who has a firm grasp on the situation they’re faced with. Her eyes, though nowhere near as hard as Freddy’s, hold the serious glint of a parent ready to scold their child. Her hands are folded together, and if her posture didn’t suggest otherwise, anyone would think she was simply twiddling her thumbs.

“That’s because we had drinks,” Foxy recalls happily, hiding with remarkable precision his annoyance with the pushy bird.

“Why did you have drinks?” Chica asks.

“Because I was attacking him!” Foxy says cheerfully, “don’t ye know the best way to defeat someone is to get them weak first?”

“Foxy,” Chica says flatly, “you have the ability to crush someone’s skull in your jaws, you wouldn’t need to weaken anyone.”

Foxy leans forward, shaking his finger and making a “tsk” sound with his teeth, “That’s were yer confused! I’m not trying to _kill_ him: there are plenty of other ways to skin a cat!”

“Like what,” Chica asks bemusedly.

“Well,” Foxy scratches his built-in beard, “I hear that if ye can knock it out first, it’s much easier. I’ve even heard some madmen talk about putting razors over a cat door! Humans truly are disgusting.”

“I hear that,” Mike groans, not fully grasping the concepts in discussion, “people just suck.”

“That they do, laddie, that they do,” Foxy gently scratches Mike’s scalp.

“I think you know what I mean,” Chica hisses, “how is getting our _dearest_ guard drunk attacking him? What kind of attack are you trying to do?”

“A psychological one, obviously!” Foxy boasts, “there’s nothing more damaging than a psychological attack!”

“Please explain,” Chica says, ready to be done with this conversation.

“Well you see, my dear chick,” Foxy says, words dripping with sarcasm, “there’s just so much more you can do to a man than kill him! And the effects are much more entertaining to watch! Ye could say to a man ‘ye don’t mean anything’ every day of his life, and he’ll believe it far beyond that! Ye could twist someone into a whole other person, just by messing with his perceptions!”

“Killing doesn’t do as much?” Chica mumbles, some uncomfortable realization on its way.

“In the case of Mikey here,” Foxy says, either ignoring or not hearing Chica at all, “I thought the best way to get under his skin was to make him think I was his friend! Then, when that seed has been firmly planted, I’ll betray him! That, my dear ‘friends’, will break him into nothing.”

There’s a sudden sob from Chica, one that makes everyone turn to see what’s wrong. There’s a moment of confusion, as no one appears to be in her seat. On closer inspection, the many eyes land on a shaking yellow thing on the floor. Chica is curled up in a little ball, crying about how “she’s never been good enough to do that” and “getting killed sure did something”. The group, at first, seems unsure of how to deal with a crying chicken, even though something like this happens once every week at least. Freddy, like the noble martyr he is, takes a deep breath and goes over to Chica. He delicately picks her up in a bridal style carry, and quietly takes her to his office to calm down.

A few beats of awkward silence follow the exiting of the two most mature members of the group. Goldie, not seeing a need to leave the exquisite scene just yet, stays behind the fox and the guard. He doesn’t really have much of an incentive to keep them there, but he figures that if he already started, there’s really no use in stopping now. Foxy, feeling only the smallest bit of remorse for upsetting Chica (he’d argue that she does this so often there’s no telling what will set her off, so is he _really_ to blame? She just expects everyone to bend to her will, to not upset her instead of thinking about trying to do it herself. Just another nagging mother figure to ignore, in Foxy’s eyes), sits only a little bit less comfortably than he was before. Mike, feeling the negative energy of the room, can’t help the few manly tears that flow from his eyes.

Bonnie, looking more frantic than ever, shoots up in his seat, “I get it!” he all but screams, “you were trying to dull his senses to get him in the suit!”

Foxy blinks, trying to regain his composure, “huh?”

“It makes so much sense!” Bonnie cries. He stands up and starts to pace, “You took him out to learn his weaknesses so that you could more easily convince him to get in the suit.”

Foxy scratches the back of his neck, “Well, it’s more like—.”

“And!” Bonnie announces, face alight with his carefully crafted story, “you got him drunk so that way he would go in the suit without much of a fuss, and it wouldn’t hurt him much at the same time!” He pauses a moment in his denial filled tirade, “I mean I don’t know why you would go through the trouble.”

“Bonnie,” Foxy says, face fallen into disappointment and tiredness.

“But it makes total sense! You’re such a nice guy that you want his journey to the other side—”

“Bon—.”

“—to be as comfortable as possible! I always knew that you really cared about other people.”

“Well,” Foxy interrupts, his face warped into a lustful sneer, “I’d like to get into _his_ suit.”

He cackles at the mortified expression of the bunny, just happy to see him finally shut up for once. He turns to Mike, sneer only increasing at the perplexed blushing face looking back at him. Feeling particularly pumped up from the many battles he had won, Foxy daringly leans forward to capture Mike’s mouth in his own. He tries to ignore the distinct taste of alcohol and instead focus on the sweet feeling the gung-ho Mike gives him. Bonnie shrieks with terror at the passionate scene, mind already racing to explain the awful sight he was being presented with.

“If I can’t see it,” Bonnie screams like a madman, “it’s not real!” He darts out of the dining area to his special broom closet to do whatever the guy spent hours at a time doing in there.

Foxy smiles, knowing full well that within an hour or less, Bonnie will have already come up with a perfectly believable explanation for what he just saw. Perhaps he’ll explain to Freddy and Chica that Foxy had simply been torturing Mike, or biting him, or some other way to deny what had really happened. That has to be his favorite thing about Bonnie: he barely had to watch himself around him, since the lavender bastard will have made an excuse for him within minutes.

The “ahem” of a throat clearing shocks Foxy out of his victorious reverie, “Is this lovely little scene for little old me?” Goldie asks, “or did you two lovebirds forget I was here?”

Foxy’s throat tightens, internally refusing the mounting panic in his chest, “We just kind of… did it. Without any relation to ye.” Foxy quickly corrects himself, “not to say we disrespect ye, Goldie, we just weren’t doing it for ye.”

Goldie chuckles, undeterred by the tense posture of the fox, “No need to be so nervous, Foxy, I was just playing.”

“Oh,” Foxy mumbles, trying to find a way to regain his harsh voice, “of course, I knew that.”

“Now,” Goldie drawls, bending over to hug the two crooks closer to him, “I’d imagine you wouldn’t want me to spill to the others, now would you?”

Foxy focuses his rage on not squirming, “Spill… spill what?”

“Last time I checked,” Goldie recounts, “people don’t usually go on dates for 5 hours and go to just one place.”

“It,” Foxy finds just enough courage to argue, “wasn’t a date.”

“Aw, come on,” Goldie squeezes Foxy’s shoulder just a little too tight, “you don’t honestly think that I would be too blind to see that funny little mark on your lover boy’s neck, did you?” He teasingly rubs across the sizable bite mark on Mike’s shoulder with one of his oversized hands.

“Don’t fucking touch him!” Foxy bristles, “or I’ll send ye straight to hell!”

Goldie’s face hardens, “I might be an old, dried up sleaze ball, but don’t go thinking you can talk to me like that.”

Foxy full on growls, “And don’t _yew_ be thinking you can touch _my_ Mikey like that.”

The two animatronics, in all their foolhardy stubbornness, lock one another in a stare down. Of course, it’s a little difficult when one of the stare-ers doesn’t have eyes and the other has an eye that doesn’t quite work. The tension, in spite of the somewhat silly premise, is undeniably thick: the two men have death in their scowls and no trace of fear in their hearts. The two are so quiet that the only evidence of time moving are the faint sound of Chica crying and the bizarre, wailing noises coming from Bonnie.

“Dudes,” Mike croons, the unmistakable stench of alcohol filling the small space the three take up, “what are we even fighting about?”

Foxy, like the constantly-ready-to-explode bomb that he is, barks, “This _bastard_ was trying to get yer ass in bed in return for not telling the others!”

“I would never!” Goldie spits back, his eyebrows raised in shock, “I might not be the most… _principled_ man you’ll meet, but even I won’t go after a doll already accounted for!” He mumbles, “at least while his man is watching.”

A bit too relieved to take note of the words under the bear’s breath, Foxy sighs, “Oh thank God.”

“I was just—,” Goldie takes a deep breath, trying to clear his mind, “I was simply trying to point out how I knew what you two had done, and that I wouldn’t tell the others. For a _price_ , of course.”

“Well then,” Mike hiccups, “what _did_ you want?”

Goldie grins and turns his attention to Mike, “I _assume_ that you two didn’t go to this minimum wage earner’s house for him to get this sloshed, so you gotta tell me,” his desperate expression momentarily betrays his suave demeanor, “where the hell did you to go that allowed the fox over here?”

“Excuse me?” Foxy bleats, expecting something much worse than a bar recommendation.

“I’m so tired of the few places I can go to,” Goldie mourns with an artificial, but purely genuine, tear in his eye, “I need something new in my life!”

Foxy hesitates, “The _Fur Adults_ bar downtown, they… they assumed I was just some feller in a costume.”

“Huh,” Goldie hums, “must be new.”

“Sure it is, but uh… could ye kindly get off of us?” Foxy isn’t about to jeopardize the chance to get off scot free by pushing (and therefore angering) the heavy bear.

Goldie makes an odd, rumbling sound, “And how!” Once again, he mumbles, “You won’t be saying that for long.”

 True to his (audible) words, the golden, ghostly bear lifts himself off the duo without a sound. Foxy suddenly wonders how a ghost-thingy could have possibly put any weight on him, but decides he really doesn’t care enough to investigate. Mike celebrates his freedom by lying his top half almost entirely on the greasy table, wondering vacantly why he hadn’t done it earlier. Goldie makes his way to the front entrance, presumably to go get as drunk as he can (which isn’t much, he’s a bag of mechanized parts and ectoplasm for Christ’s sake). He pauses and, clearly embarrassed, turns back to the pair.

“Say, where was that place, now?” he asks, only the tiniest traces of suaveness in his voice.

“It’s on Fuadain road,” Foxy calls out, most of his attention back on Mike.

“Thank you kindly,” Goldie coos, before bursting out the doors gleefully to get ghost-drunk.

Finally alone, Foxy lets the stress out with a heaving sigh. It’s not easy getting into a battle with 4 animatronics, completely intent on ruining his good time. He’d be lying if he said that he didn’t think someone was going to snap and hurt Mike, but he wouldn’t say that to anyone but himself. He strokes his rather impressive greaser-style pompadour, slightly relieved that it hadn’t come up in conversation, as that was a battle he’d rather not face now. He wanted to scream at them all for making his life so fucking hard, but that would ruin his punk, uncaring façade, and that was something he had put far too much work into to ruin just because he’s tired.

“Hey, Foxy,” Mike interrupts, “did you mean it?”

Foxy takes a moment to look over to Mike before responding, “Mean what?”

“That it wasn’t a date?” Mike asks in a drunken sadness, “and that you were just… attacking me?”

Foxy gives Mike one of his rare, toothy smiles, “Of course not, Mikey.” He scoots a little closer to the drunken man, “They’d just give me Hell fer it, my boy. Don’t worry yer pretty little noggin.”

Mike giggles a school girl’s giggle with a full-grown man’s voice, “You’re sooooo good to me, Foxy.”

“That be the truth!” Foxy quietly declares, ruffling Mike’s already messy hair. “Now, what say ye we escape to yer car to finish this?” Foxy purrs, “ye can’t go home ‘till yer sober, and I don’t think I can let me Mikey sleep all alone.”

Mike grins a sloppy grin, and leans into Foxy’s ear, “We’re going to fuck again, right?”

Foxy cackles, “if ye want to!”

Mike suddenly buries his face into Foxy’s coat, “I love you, Foxy.”

The fox has to remember how words work for a moment, “same here, Mikey boy.” He can’t really find the courage to reciprocate in full, “Same here.”

**Author's Note:**

> Before anyone says anything I'm just going to say it myself: I am aware this is kinda dumb. This weird idea of Foxy straight up declaring that he was just attacking Mike appeared in my dreams and I thought it was funny so I made this.
> 
> Another thing that you astoot readers may have guessed is that I'm kinda into Undertale again. I just... honestly I thought of an idea for an AU and now I can't help but return to it over and over again! Like for a while, I would use Undertale stuff to calm down or just like look at it in my off time, so I guess it was only a matter of time until I started writing for it. Not to worry though, I'm not planning on abandoning fnaf any time soon (I've got too many ideas to do that) the only change is that I'm probably going to be sprinkling in some Undertale stuff with it.  
> (Also does anyone else think it's weird that I'm most attracted to the fandoms and games that are kind of old news? I do. My friends do to. They hate it when I try to bring up Undertale or fnaf in conversation cause everyone got burnt out on Undertale and fnaf is also kinda sorta not really old. I am a blight upon my friends.)  
> ... Anyways!  
> I'm still deciding what I should write next (I kinda started something with Undertale as I was working on this because I just can't help it my fingers are alight with ideas), but I am fully aware that I need to do another story in the Freddy series but I'm still working out the *kinks*. Speaking of that one, some of the feedback and my own ideas on what to do with it kind of gave me an idea for a real story, so I'm trying to figure out a way to structure the future entries to really get a funny and sexy story out. Of course, I'm always thinking of my book in the back of my mind, so that obviously takes up another chunk of my writing space. We'll all have to see what I come up with next.
> 
> Sorry for the info dump, but I'm pretty sure almost none of you guys check out my tumblr so I can't exactly expect anyone to catch one of my rants there.


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